


Prideful Sin

by BleatingGoat (Nat20)



Series: A Fox's Fire [3]
Category: Flight Rising
Genre: Blood, Don't make Elva mad, Elva is a good general and protects her family, Gen, Irwin has PTSD this isn't a secret, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Torture, assassination attempt, so the graphics violence is for that, there's a description of torture in here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 21:34:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19385080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nat20/pseuds/BleatingGoat
Summary: An assassination attempt goes wrong, leaving Bovidae on high alert.





	Prideful Sin

**Author's Note:**

> The beginning of the last part of the story contains the torture. It's one paragraph of description.

Work had continued as normal after his conversation with Elva. She had respected his distance, only spoke to him when she needed to, and ensured he had plenty of work to act as a distraction if he needed it. Most of the work didn't even need to be focused on. Events happening in half a year, looking at weapon counts among the Donnelly, confirming training for the most talented potential spies and assassins among the family. That one was a challenge. Many Bovidae-born Donnelly were not good contenders for the more delicate situations required by any kingdom. Or perhaps Irwin was just far too picky. Either or, he was not very satisfied with many potential future spies and assassins. If he did choose someone from the family they would need to have their habits beaten out of them and an entire personality change. Elva didn't question any of Irwin's refusals for those that she proposed. Only nodded and took his word at face value.

He was alone in the war room, diligently working through the mounds of paperwork for events that did not require the attention of someone of his caliber. Regardless, he focused on it. Bovidae was not a war kingdom anymore. They had no reason to declare war on another land or to march to claim resources. They were doing fairly well ignoring everyone else and being focused on their own current problems. One of which was apparently a large party that took place in the canyon to celebrate the wet season being in full swing and when the Greening took place. Irwin was almost looking forward to that one. Why his skills were required to plan such a event was unknown to him but he was fairly confident in his scheduling abilities. A strategist that couldn't schedule a large event had no business calling themselves a strategist in the first place.

A small creak broke the blissful silence of the room.

Irwin's pen stopped, lifting ever so slightly as to prevent the bleeding of ink along his papers. He stared straight down at the page, as if reviewing his own handwriting, while he listened. He forced his naturally anxious heart to beat steady and calm, his breathing becoming shallow but even. He made no noise, didn't even dare to swallow to break the silence that was telling him everything he needed to know about the room.

The window had been locked when he entered. He checked it every day. The door to the hallway was unlocked but his desk faced it. He had specifically broken the door to where it would creak every time it was opened. Not even he could open it without making some sort of noise. Therefore, by line of sight and hearing, he knew the door had not been opened. His whole desk was angled so his back was to a bookshelf pressed right up against the wall. The bookshelf had small triggers along the top of it that were cleverly covered in dust to hide them. If the triggers had any pressure applied to them they would make noise.

A single creak.

Irwin didn't move. He didn't swallow or blink. He kept staring at his work, his thoughts moving faster than a well-placed arrow. The shadows in the room were just as still, but he felt some of them, those hiding under his clothing, begin to creep along his skin, pressed so close to him as to not show their movements.

He took a deep breath and made a very conscious choice.

Irwin felt the dagger bury deep into his shoulder. He fell onto the floor in a mix of pain an an effort to move out of the way of the blade. He had picked the right direction. The shadows around the room quickly rose from their resting places and slammed against the bookshelf. Irwin took satisfaction at the surprised and startled yelp of the assassin.

He stood up, grabbing his cane and hoisting himself up off the floor. The noise of commotion from the floor below filled him with a mix of concern and joy. He plucked a dagger from under his coat and threw it. The assassin dropped their next knife and cried out in pain, expression hidden by the cloth pulled over their mouth and nose. But their eyes were clear as day. Shadow eyes, slightly darker in shade than Irwin's. Younger than his. Irwin's eyes studied them for a split second, failing to find any markings of kingdom or land. The clothes were traditional grey and dark blues—colors that would blend into caves and the night. With the dagger still lodged in his shoulder, causing pain to pulse through his entire arm, Irwin clenched his teeth and narrowed his eyes.

The shadows shot for the assassin under the silent command, curling around each other and growing suddenly sharp at the tips, solidifying into something more akin to the Shadowbinder's goo. The assassin reacted faster than Irwin wished and jumped out of the window, the shadows missing their target, some piercing into the wall.

The door slammed open and Irwin collapsed against another bookshelf, eyes screwed shut in pain. He reached behind him and ripped out the dagger with a grunt. He looked at its blade and handle. It had a familiar feel and weight that filled Irwin's chest with dread.

“The academy,” he muttered more to himself, hearing his own voice shake in both fear and disbelief, “they found me.”

“Sound the alarms! _**NOW**_! I want them _alive_!” He heard Elva shout. The moment he looked up he saw her jump out of the window in pursuit at the same moment the shadows worked themselves out of the solid form and returned to their resting positions around the room, several of them stretching out against the light to touch Irwin. A comforting weight along his body, but anxiety was boiling deep within his gut, heart hammering away against their cage.

Donnelly warriors surrounded him, all with their weapons drawn and at the ready, a few muttering to him that he was alright. The attacker hadn't been clever enough to end him. They were wrong. They were clever enough. They were specially trained to hunt prey far more prepared than Irwin. He knew because he was trained to do the same.

The academy's assassin had gotten into a secure room without him knowing. Or they had been hiding there before he entered and he missed them during his sweep. Or maybe they traveled through the shadows and convinced them to not alert Irwin to their presence. Maybe they meant to trigger the alarm Irwin had placed on top of the bookshelf. Regardless of their plans or even their highly unlikely slip up, their goal was reached.

Irwin knew they found him.

They knew where he lived.

They knew who he associated with.

He felt his breath quicken as he let the academy's blade slip from his hand and clatter onto the floor. It was hard to focus his vision. The edges kept growing dark despite his attempts to stop it and to control his breathing. Yet it was getting harder with every passing second, the concerned voices of his apparent family members growing slurred and muffled in his ears. Even the ear-shattering alarm that sounded throughout the whole kingdom didn't stir him, eyes still trained straight ahead as he tried to gain control over himself.

_How pathetic_ , he thought as he felt his breathing become even shorter, _showing this sort of weakness_.

 

 

–

 

 

Elva's legs pounded against the rock and stone of the mountains as she made sharp turn after sharp turn, letting the mountain paths lead her, the sound of moving and shifting stone filling her ears, dust assaulting her lungs. All of this she was used to, but she knew, somehow, the mountain was giving her a shortcut. She would be damned if she didn't trust them, but she needed the mountains to keep up with her pace. Traveling civilians passed her in blurs as the alarms continued to ring out through the mountains and the plains. The other families heard the racket, she knew. But as she ran faster than she has ever had to in her life. She prayed that if she didn't find the assailant the others did and that they remembered what the two short bursts followed by one long alarm meant.

Capture, not kill.

She dug her fingers into the stone of the mountain's walls and began to scale, jumping from outcrop to outcrop with the skill and grace of a well-seasoned mountain goat. A skill Bovidae natives practiced since birth. She made it over the first ridge before the next wave of alarms sounded, running along the broken but large enough tops of the ridge. She saw the cloak of the failed assassin make a turn. Elva began to travel faster alone the outcrops of the mountain's walls to the ridges of shorter rises before jumping over one ridge and sliding down the sheer drop. She used her tail to balance herself, readying her fists as she saw part of the mountain path ahead close and a new path open in mere seconds. When she saw the assassin make that turn, Elva knew the mountains were on her side.

With a snarling cry fit for an enraged boar, Elva jumped during her slide and tackled the assassin to the ground, grabbing their jaw and forcing it open as she draped herself over their back, using her other hand to rip their face cover down.

“Drop it!” She screamed, beating the assassin's legs with her tail as hard as she could before using only the hand on their jaw to hold them as she drew her fist back. Elva angled herself towards the side and punched their back, square in the middle.

A small pill fell out of the assassin's mouth, followed by a pained grunt. Without any hesitation, Elva grabbed a rock and shoved it in their mouth, pinning their tongue against the bottom palate and keeping them from biting it off. She then slammed their head into the earth. Once, twice, three times until they went limp, moaning in pain.

Elva's knee buried deep into their back and her tail rose only to slam down on the back of their knees. The cracking noises that followed filled the assassin's throat with a scream, muffled by the large rock. Sharp claws buried into the assassin's wrists as Elva held them there, trying to gain control of the anger bubbling under her skin, to stop herself from beating their head in with a rock until there was nothing left. She bit back the urge to beg the mountains to crush this assassin against them, squeezing the life out of them like a boa constructor wrapped around a fowl.

“How fucking _dare_ you,” she growled, voice inching ever further away from normal, “injure _my_ _family_.” Her claws dug deeper into their wrist, eliciting a whimper of pain and the quick dribble of blood down Elva's fingers.

“Elva!”

She looked up to see Lorcan approaching on all eight of their limbs, raising up to tuck four of the appendages back into their robes and coiling their neck around to appear larger and shorter than it actually was.

“Lorcan,” said Elva, letting the growl drop from her voice as she continued to hold the assassin. “They had a pill in their mouth. I think it's poison.”

Lorcan reached out with long, sharp claws and plucked the white pill off of the ground. With a hum, Lorcan took out a small, empty pouch and dropped it in.

“To review for later. Let us get this intruder to holding.”

“I want them questioned.” Elva yanked the assassin off of the ground, taking pleasure in how their broken knees buckled under the weight and the pained cry that followed. “I want to know everything.”

“There is something else,” said Lorcan with a quieter voice, “a messenger at the border warning that an assassin will try to claim the life of Lord Irwin. Alynn has intercepted them and is bringing them to the palace. Apparently this messenger has claimed no ill will and surrendered all their weapons.”

“Well, their message is fucking late,” Elva hissed. She took in a deep breath and grabbed the assassin's hair in a tight fist, tossing them around so they would be easier to drag. “Let's go. And we're taking the bumpiest road back.”

 

 

–

 

 

The messenger sat in the palace with her hands and feet bound with a blindfold securely tied over her eyes. She made no move to attack nor to speak. Her tail acted as her seat, having declined a chair. Despite putting a lot of weight on her coiled tail she sat with pristine perfection and balance gained from years of practice. It looked like it had become second nature.

The assassin captured in the mountain paths had been locked in the dungeons and bound with pounds of steel and specialized chains to block all magical abilities. They were under the careful scrutiny of the O'Hannigan family until the Cooney picked their interrogation officer. Although, Elva had let it slip that Damian had a lot of experience in torture. She knew the former foreign king would take great pleasure in harming someone that had dared to hurt his friend. Yet she wasn't down there with the assassin. She was up here in another room, far less worrying than an interrogation chamber, staring at this strange woman.

Irwin was, thankfully, not present. He was at home with half of the Donnelly family keeping watch over him, Melinda with him personally to help him work through whatever pain he was having. Among other problems. Elva wanted to be there too, ensuring he was safe herself, but she knew she had to be here. At least her heart could rest easy knowing Alynn had decided to go check on Irwin herself. No one would get past her.

“Who are you?” Lorcan asked first, eyes focused on the messenger. In the corner of the room Pomona was furiously taking down notes.

“Everyone just calls me Pride.” The woman gave a sad smile. “I've also been called Morgan, Deidre, Kattina and Sorven. Pride is my newest name.”

“Where do you hail?”

“The Foxfire Academy.”

Elva let a growl rip from her throat, tail twitching madly behind her. Lorcan let one of their arms slip from under the robe to grip Elva's forearm, almost as a warning to keep calm. Clamping her teeth together, Elva let her claws bury deeper into the wood table between them and their guest. Lorcan gave Elva a steady look before turning their attention back to the woman.

“You know Irwin?”

“Yeah, I know him very well. He knows me, too, although I fully expect him to deny it now.” Pride gave a small sniff. “I was in the year under him. He taught me how to hold a blade proper. He wasn't Irwin back then. I like the new name, though. It's more... _him_.”

“What was his original name?”

“That's not for me to give out.” Pride shrugged. “You'll have to ask him.”

Something about this woman put Elva at ease and she hated it. The whole way she presented herself with her bound hands behind her back and her feet clearly locked together in front of her. Her position couldn't have been comfortable with her balancing against her tail, but she made no move or indication she meant any harm. She even subjected herself willingly to having an anti-magic collar placed around her neck and her eyes covered. Not a single complaint escaped her. Elva could easily kill her like this but there wasn't a hint of fear or worry. Nothing.

“The assassin, who were they?” Lorcan continued.

“One of the students about to graduate. I suspect this whole fiasco was their final exam. If they succeeded they graduate. If they fail and return empty handed, well,” she hesitated before taking a breath and continuing, “if you fail then they'll make an example of you. Failure is not tolerated at Foxfire.”

“Foxfire Academy, is it located in the foxfire brambles of the Tangled Wood?”

A smile broke across Pride's face. “Yeah! Yeah! Hidden among the thickest brambles, deep into them. Getting there is a challenge in and of itself. Only the elites know how to enter an leave without injury or falling into traps.”

“How do they get students?”

“Orphans of war are checked for element. If they are shadow dragons and young enough then they are brought into the academy to be groomed. Any other element or above a certain age and they are killed. Some parents sell their children to the academy as slaves or as potential students.”

“How did Irwin become part of the academy?”

Hesitation. A deep frown. “I don't know. I never asked him. I just know he was a student so he must have been brought in when he was young enough. No parents ever visit or write. Don't know if he knows them.”

“And you?”

“I-” she stopped and stumbled on her next words for a brief moment, brow furrowing. “-I don't know, either. I was a student so...”

“You graduated?”

“Yes. A year after Irwin did.” She gave a smile that wasn't meant for them, but for a memory. “His final exam entered the legend of the academy among students, especially my class since we witnessed his success. Murdered a high king and managed to get the entire kingdom to turn themselves inside out in a revolution! He was a very talented strategist _and_ assassin. I think he trained primarily as a strategist but I know for a fact the professors in the spy and assassin fields liked him a lot. Were always upset the strategist college claimed him.”

Elva felt a surge of disgust at the thought of such an academy, of making children do their dirty work. Everything Irwin had told her flooded back to her in that single moment. A cold feeling settled among her blood. She knew Lorcan felt it too, if the way Lorcan's hand tightened against Elva's arm.

“The, uh, the Yaal Kingdom?” Lorcan breathed out.

“That's the one!” Pride gave a chuckle. “Burned right to the ground and Irwin escaped with no one suspecting a thing! His final exam is used as an example of what real success looks like. Pissed off his fellow classmates that's for sure!”

“And your final?”

“Oh, I'm an assassin, so I killed some highbrow person. Can't remember their name but they lived in the Ashfall Wastes. Stabbed them right through the eye and used the death to frame a neighboring kingdom.”

Lorcan gave a small but tense hum. “And you wanted to come warn Irwin... why?”

Pride's smile faded, her long ears dropping to the sides of her face. “I like Irwin. He's a funny guy. He taught me how to hold a blade proper. I don't want him to die.” Her frown grow deeper. “The academy punishes kindness. He suffered many beatings because of me. But despite all that he stayed a nice person in his own way. Someone that managed to stay kind after everything the academy does doesn't deserve to die by their hand.” An even deeper frown formed on her face, brow furrowing. “Is he alright? Did the assassin hurt him? He's alive, right?”

Elva growled deeply, “Your message was late, that's for certain. But he's alive.”

A look of relief. “Good. That's good. That's all I need to know. You can kill me now.”

Elva and Lorcan shared a glance.

“Um, why?” Lorcan hesitated over the words. “You have not done anything to demand a death sentence.”

“Oh, not from you. But if the academy finds out I tried to warn Irwin they'll kill me. I would rather die by this kingdom's hand. It's worthy enough for Irwin to want to stay here, right? That means something. He is a good judge of character.” Pride shrugged, chains clicking together. “I'm ready. I made my peace.”

A moment of silence, Elva gave a deep sigh and tore her arm from Lorcan's grip with ease, making her way over to Pride. She hesitated before she unlocked the bindings on her hands and feet. Then she removed the anti-magic collar before taking the blindfold, studying the purple eyes that greeted her. There was a look of confusion there as Pride carefully and slowly brought her hands around to her front, rubbing her wrists.

“You aren't any harm to us,” stated Elva as she leaned against the table, dropping the items on it and crossing her arms. “And if you prove to be in the future I'll kill you myself.”

“I don't doubt it,” Pride responded with ease, giving a small smile. “I have no ill will towards your people, and I left the academy years ago to try and hide from them. I can only assume Irwin did the same if they sent someone after him. But it would be best if I left your kingdom. They may send an assassin after me.”

“You'll leave all right, with me following. You are going to take me right to this academy.”

Concern. It was obvious on her face. She was so easy to read it made Elva's stomach clench. Irwin was hard to read, but that was by choice. This woman was either being dramatic or she was just naturally easy to study. Elva highly doubted it was the latter.

“No. If you go there, you will die. It's an academy of warriors, spies, strategist, assassin, and much more. They will capture you and then use you for study on new torture methods. If they don't do that they will murder you on the spot. I'm afraid you wouldn't stand a chance. No one would.” Pride shook her head. “The academy has stood strong for centuries. It's as old as the Tangled Wood. Besides, a traitor like me would be killed as soon as I step foot in the Tangled Wood, and since you aren't a shadow dragon you would be suspicious right away.”

Lorcan tapped their claws to the table, eyes narrowing in thought while listening to the never ceasing scratch of Pomona's pen to paper. “Actually,” Lorcan hesitated, “I have an idea. But I will need time to deliberate, and we will need a general meeting to discuss it. Bovidae may be going to war, but one that is unannounced.”

“What?” Elva turned her attention away from Pride. She only thought about it a moment later, but felt no worry. A quick glance back at Pride proved the assassin was watching Lorcan.

“Irwin is a strategist, a spy and an assassin. We have him at our disposal to plan Bovidae's strategies. We may be able to use that to plan an attack.”

“He'll never agree,” said Pride. She lowered her gaze from Lorcan and Elva's. “I mean no disrespect, but Irwin knows the academy. They aren't going to go down easy and they have eyes everywhere. Today's attack is proof of that.” Pride looked back up, locking eyes with Lorcan. “I hope you have a good torturer. Whoever they sent will be trained to resist, no matter what.”

Elva looked back to Lorcan. “If Damian can't do it then...?”

“Then we'll get Endor. I am sure Zol and Zal will allow us to borrow him.”

 

 

–

 

 

The room reeked of blood. A small puddle had formed on the ground, slowly moving towards one of the drains. Teeth not vital to speech had been plucked and the gaping holes drilled into without much care for how deep or which direction it went in. The thin folds of their lips and cheeks had been slashed. Their fingers were broken and bent in directions they should never had gone in. Their knees, already broken by Elva, were unrecognizable now. Deep slashes covered their skin while blood ran thick and hot down their body towards the floor. The chains that held them up had been tightened to the point their skin was breaking and bleeding under the force.

They had yet to speak, much less scream.

It was pissing Damian off.

He brought his fist to the assassin's head again, taking pleasure in the grunt that followed and the flow of blood that escaped their mouth. Damian drew his fist back and hit them again and again, stopping only when it sounded like the dragon was choking on their own blood.

“Enough,” Sedai said calmly, watching Damian take a step back from their captive. “Let me see your hand.”

Damian presented his hands to her, letting her wipe the blood off with a warm cloth before inspecting the knuckles. She frowned and ran her own hand along Damian's. Lightning crackled under her palm as the electric magic defied its very existence and removed the bruises along his knuckles. Damian took his hands back and rubbed the knuckles, feeling faint tingling along his fingers. Sedai leaned back in her chair and looked to the captive.

“They are strong,” she said before standing up and moving to stand in front of them. Damian had to look up to watch her face, her height rivaling his own. Sedai may be the general of the Desmond family and the coordinator of the Desmond hospital, but that didn't mean she skipped out on her training. Damian remembered back to the royal family fights and how brutal Sedai had been in her attacks, although she did not fight with the intent to win. Regardless, the scars that decorated her skin from her face all the way down her body said more about her than her medical coat now stained in blood. “But we will break them.”

She turned her head at the sound of footsteps and sniffed the air. Damian smelled it too, past the blood that soaked the room and their captive. Decay. Sedai turned around to face the entrance of the holding cell and narrowed her eyes when a handsome man stepped through. Imperial by the shape of his ears. His long black hair that faded to brown at the tips hung around his shoulders and framed his face. Pitch black sclera with his pure white pupils gave him a look that made Damian shiver.

“Elva and Lorcan have requested my presence,” he said with a smirk that could make a demon's stomach twist. “Five minutes and I'll have our guest talking.”

“Are you planning to kill them?” Sedai asked, putting her hands in her pockets and fishing out a small notebook. “Because I need to take some more notes before you do.”

Damian's eyes went to the assassin. He could see fear deep within their eyes, but it was well hidden. He slammed his tail against their side unexpectedly, earning a yowling scream as the sound of cracking bones filled the chamber.

The newcomer's smirk grew into a twisted smile. “Music to my ears! And, yes, Dr. Sedai. I do plan to kill them. Unless of course this gentleman wishes to?”

“Damian,” said Damian, turning back to the imperial and letting his tail hover above the blood strained grown.

“Ah, Toril's husband. She speaks highly of you. Love the work, you did very good. I'm Endor, an O'Hannigan that specializes in everything Dr. Sedai does not.”

“Necromancy,” Sedai clarified.

“I often find dealing with people like our guest is _so_ much easier when their dead,” he explained as he approached, putting on black silk gloves. “Souls tend to be more loose-lipped because, well,” he chuckled as he spoke, “what are their former employers going to do? _Kill them_?”

 


End file.
